Every queen has a secret weapon. Bellatrix thought it was Petra. Petra also thought it was Petra.
But tonight, the title was up for grabs because a six-foot narcissist with a coconut fetish was about to give his opinions about lighting angles.
She straightened her shoulders. Looked at Petra. Looked at Thor. Looked at both of them with the imperious focus of a woman about to do something she found personally distasteful and was going to make goddamn sure nobody remembered it.
"This never happened. Neither of you saw this. If anyone asks, we were inspecting trail conditions for a routine land survey. Petra, you will take that to your grave. Thor, you will forget this entire evening."
"Yes, Luna," Thor said, still flexing.
"Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"The muscles."
